


Bloom

by vanroku



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: 2deep5me, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Dreams, Gen, Self-Acceptance, Symbolism, What the fuck did I just write, centipedes, kind of poetic, referenced past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanroku/pseuds/vanroku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleep never comes easily for Haise. </p><p>He welcomed the oblivion of a dreamless sleep, but no matter how hard he wished, how many hours he stayed awake, he knew the same checkered room was waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> i actually went into this fully intending on only writing gross smut and then this happened  
> i dont know what the fuck this is  
> i never even got to write the gross smut i wanted to write

Sleep never comes easily for Haise.

His patterns were erratic, work schedule keeping him awake until all hours of the night, and even when he completed a report, he could be subjected to lying awake in his bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling.

On nights like these, he almost envied the Quinx squad, how their palettes weren’t inhibited to the point where taking sleep medication was never an option for them. He wanted nothing more than the instant gratification they could provide, the idea that the only side effect was forgetting his dreams. He welcomed the oblivion of a dreamless sleep, but no matter how hard he wished, how many hours he stayed awake, he would always enter the same checkered room in his unconsciousness.

The black and white tiles span across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Its expanse is dizzying as he stares at it.

He hears a scream, agonizing and broken, distorted in pitch. His hands shoot upwards to cover his ears, but he feels something, some foreign, strange feeling in his left ear. It’s sharp, moving, and suddenly there’s searing pain. He scratches desperately at his ear and the scream breaks off, a hand wraps around his wrist, wrenches his hand away.

“Hai _se_ ,” the voice whispers and Haise’s blood runs cold in his veins, his stomach drops. His heart beats painfully in his chest and he wants to turn around, wants to see the owner of the voice, the owner of the breath ghosting over his ear.

He hears clicking, deafening, and he attempts to turn his head to his left to identify the source, but hands slip around him, one catching his jaw to keep his head forward, the other covering his eyes.

“No peeking,” whispers the voice. And the hand slides upwards, moves up his forehead to rest against his skin. Haise’s eyes take in his surroundings, the field of white flowers. The fragrance reaches his nose and it’s overwhelming, his head spins lightly.

“You hide in the flowerbed, Haise,” the voice hisses in his ear, and down at his feet, Haise can see the flowers wilting, turning brown and withering, curling into themselves. “You’re poison, nothing can thrive with you. You’re _weak_.”

He flinches. The words stab through Haise’s heart; he can feel the sharp pain in his chest, spreading with each shaky breath he takes. “No,” he whispers quietly.

The voice hums, a lilt, and the decaying flowers around him fall. Haise hears the clicking sound again, louder, much louder, and his eyes fall to the floor, breath hitching in his throat as his eyes take in the sight before him. There is a body, back turned to him, with dark hair and cuffed hands, and on it are wriggling insects, centipedes. The brilliant shine of their segmented bodies are tarnished by the blood seeping from the corpse, staining them red.

Haise feels sick, his stomach churning as bile rises in his throat. He struggles against the hands holding him in place, tries to shut his eyes.

“Open your eyes. Open them, open them, ope _n them, openthemopenthemopenthemopenthem—_ ”

Haise’s eyes are wrenched open, he can feel tears pricking at their corners, welling and threatening to spill. The hands gripping him force his head downwards, forces him to take in the sight of a person hunched over the corpse, hair stark white and matted with blood. Haise can only see his back, the curve of his spine and each bump that rose beneath the skin, exposed by the high back of the tight black bodysuit he’s donning.

“You can’t save anyone unless you become strong, Haise.”

The person’s face is buried in the corpse’s side, and Haise can hear the sound of flesh tearing and he feels sick, sick, _sick_ —

The person’s head turns sharply, his body curving backwards, and Haise takes a sharp breath as his eyes fall upon his mask, the sharp, beak-like protrusion, the single glowing eye in the center.

The hands on his face disappear; he takes a sudden step back. “A-A kakuja—?”

As the word falls from his lips, the creature twists fully around, crouching low. Fear sparks within Haise and he panics, his heart racing as he hesitates to use his kagune.  In that brief moment he is caught off guard, the ghoul’s kagune shooting outwards, embedding into his arms and pinning him to the floor as he falls. Haise stares up in fear at the ghoul’s kagune, the long, dark appendages with sharp, twitching spikes (like legs) jutting from its sides. As he struggles on the floor, the ghoul lands upon him, straddling his hips and placing both hands on his chest.

More kagune rise high behind him, unfurling from his spine and into the air like petals of a flower, blooming.

Haise’s breathing comes out in panicked pants, the ghoul’s weight too heavy for him to lift off the floor to allow his kagune to materialize. He stares up at the glowing, red, glassy eye in the center of the kakuja’s mask and something jolts through his mind, a memory, and his eyes grow wide.

This is me, this is me, thi _s_ _is me, thisismethisismethisismemememememememe_

Haise’s mouth goes dry. He stares up at the kakuja. He struggles to find his voice.

_Thisismemememememememe, I am this monster, memememememememe_

“Kaneki.”

The ghoul’s kagune halt midair, his shoulders seize up. For a tense moment, all is silent, before a crack appears in the glassy eye, splitting it in half. The mask slowly crumbles, and beneath it a face is revealed, gray eyes dull and filled with despair.

Haise is breathless as Kaneki’s face breaks into one of anguish; he bends downwards, curling into himself as his fingers move through his pure, white hair, shaking. His choked sobs are deafening in the silence, the soil beneath Haise is damp.

Haise wants to reach forward and comfort him, comfort his past self, but as he moves his hands, his vision distorts. Kaneki’s face snaps up, his lips forming words he can’t hear, and suddenly he’s waking, damp with a cold sweat in his bed.

His heart is beating rapidly as he stares up at his ceiling, and he feels the memories of his dream fading, fading nearly completely like they always do, only leaving the memory of the checkered room. He lies awake and feels his eyes sting, tears forming despite not knowing why.

In the darkness he hears a voice.

_“Accept me, Haise.”_


End file.
